2AM
by M. Marchand
Summary: What if Don had been drunk when Charlie came by at 2AM?Counterfeit Reality Alternate Ending


Acknowledgments:  
Omi as always  
To everyone on the BTN Announce List who voted for Don being drunk at 2AM  
as their choice for CR inspired plot bunny

Disclaimers:  
"A vague disclaimer is nobody's friend" - Willow, Buffy the Vampire Slayer  
I do not own the characters Don or Charlie nor do I have any rights  
to anything related to the TV show Numb3rs. I plead fair use and  
claim only my own writing and characters.

* * *

Charlie stood nervously on Don's doorstep. He was afraid to knock again but couldn't imagine Don not being home at this hour. Maybe he really had gone out drinking with Kim and the others. It seemed like Don had a beer in his hand every time Charlie saw him after work, at his house or at Don's.

The door opened abruptly and startled Charlie out of his reverie. He blinked against the bright light but could tell at a glance that Don looked like hell.

"What?" Don scowled.

"Hey. I found this box...Thought I'd..."

"What? Bring it over at 2 in the morning?" Don took it from him and carried it inside. "What? What did you do? You opened it? What is with you, man? Even when we were kids you were always going through my stuff."

"You always had cool stuff." Charlie lingered in the hallway after shutting the door behind him. Don technically hadn't invited him in and he was now going through the box as if Charlie wasn't even there.

He watched as Don pulled out an envelope and fished a diamond ring out of it. He pulled out a letter as well and unfolded it. Don tossed the empty envelope on the coffee table, which was littered with empty beer bottles, and almost as an afterthought, tossed the ring on the table as well. It hit one of the bottles and made a sound that hung in the air. Don grabbed a glass of whiskey and swallowed half the contents in a single gulp, relishing the burn.

He already knew what the letter said. The words had been seared into his brain years ago.

"Don,

I'm sorry we argued on the phone but maybe this is something we can't talk about without saying something we might regret.

The offer to join the Secret Service? I'm taking it. I know how badly you wanted me to move to L.A. and be with you but I never wanted my career to be ruled by my relationships. It's hard enough being a woman in law enforcement without people just assuming you're going to follow your husband around wherever he goes. I asked you to come back to Albuquerque and you said no. So... I guess now I'm saying no too. You put your family before me and now I guess I'm putting my needs first as well. My future is too important to me to let your parents dictate it.

I'm truly sorry, Don. I love you but I guess sometimes love isn't enough to make things work out in the end.

Please don't be sad or angry. Maybe we just weren't meant to be...

Love,

Kim"

Don dropped the letter on the coffee table where it fell into a pool of condensation left behind by the beer bottles, the moisture making the paper crinkle and the words blur.

Don didn't care. He reached into the box again and retrieved a handful of photos.

"Seems like you left a lot of good friends back there."

Don held the picture of Kim sitting on his shoulders in both hands and slowly tore the photo in half right where he ended and Kim began.

"Yeah, so good they never kept in touch after I left," Don scoffed.

"It was a difficult time, Don. With Mom dying and all..."

Don's head whipped around. "No. You don't get to talk about it like that. Not as if you were there. As if you were a part of what was happening in the family."

"I was there, Don," Charlie said, the hurt evident in his voice.

"In your precious garage? Sorry, Charlie, that doesn't count. Hiding from the family spending all your time, all of Mom's time - what little she had, on some stupid math problem?"

Don got up and refilled his drink even though it wasn't empty yet.

Charlie was stunned. He thought after all this time that Don understood. Don had seen that Charlie couldn't stop himself from reverting to P vs. NP when Don himself had been shot so how could he imagine it was any different when their mother was dying?

Don took another swallow, holding his glass in one hand and the nearly empty bottle in the other.

"She was in pain, Charlie! She needed her family around her. She knew she was going to die and she was scared, do you hear me, she was scared! She needed you, her precious little Charlie, hand raised to be her perfect son and you...you abandoned her when she needed you most." He polished off the glass, nearly choking on the harshness of the liquor. "Some perfect son you turned out to be."

Charlie's eye welled up with tears. Don couldn't be saying this to him. His Don. The brother who he rediscovered after all these years... The one he'd gotten so close to these last few months working with the FBI... The one who called him 'buddy' and joshed with him like they were really pals...

"Don, you're drunk. You don't know what you're saying." Charlie fought to keep his voice steady but the emotion leaked out unbidden.

"Yeah, I'm drunk," Don practically bragged, pouring the remainder of the whiskey into his glass. "I could have gone out for drinks tonight with my former fiancée but no, I'm home drowning my sorrows with only my kid brother to keep me company. Lucky me..."

"Don, this isn't about me and it isn't about Mom. It's about you. You feel guilty and you're lashing out at me because I'm an easy target."

"Huh! You got that right."

Charlie brushed aside the hurtful comment and continued.

"This is because of Kim, isn't it? She shows up and all of a sudden... Don, for you to have to see her again... The woman you were going to marry..."

"Shut up," Don muttered, not wanting to hear this from Charlie, from anyone.

"The woman you were in love with... The wife you had to give up when Mom got sick..."

"Shut up!" Don's voice grew louder and he put down his drink, hands trembling with anger.

"You hate yourself because you can't stop blaming Mom for making you lose Kim!"

Don flew into a rage and ran across the room, grabbing Charlie's shirt on either side of his neck. Don's hands twisted in Charlie's collar and he grasped it so tightly the fabric cut into his skin.

"Shut up!" Don yelled and when Charlie opened his mouth again to speak, he slammed him up against the wall, screaming, "I said shut up! Shut up! Did you hear me? Shut up!" With each word, he slammed Charlie into the wall, harder each time, as if to pound into him what he obviously didn't understand in words.

Charlie didn't speak again but a sound did escape his lips. It was a sound Don hadn't heard since his little brother was maybe three or four. A wordless, almost silent cry of fear.

Fear.

Don pulled back to look at Charlie's face. He was terrified. Terrified of him, his own brother. Don knew fear and he could sense it coming off of Charlie in waves. He truly believed Don was going to hurt him. Something in the back of Don's mind tried to tell him he already had hurt his little brother but he squelched that voice of reason and gripped even harder in his rage. Charlie would not make him feel guilty for this. He would not feel guilty any more.

He finally let Charlie go, giving him a look of disgust. "This is all because of you. I would have been better off as an only child. My life was just fine until you came along."

Don missed his drink and looked around for it, gulping down the last few ounces of whiskey in the glass. He only stepped away for a second or two but Charlie didn't wait around for more. He bolted, leaving the door open in his wake.

"God damn it, Charlie, get back here!"

Don sprinted out after Charlie but he was already on his bike, beginning to pedal away. With a burst of speed down the sidewalk, Don caught up with him and, grabbing him by the back of his jacket, jerked hard to stop him.

The unexpected and harsh backwards motion caused Charlie to lose control of the bike. The front wheel twisted and he went down hard, legs caught in the frame, head hitting the concrete with a crack that even Don heard from several feet away.

All the rage drained from Don in a flash.

"Charlie!" he gasped and rushed to pull the bike off of his brother. In his haste, the bike knocked against the ankle Charlie had just injured and he howled in pain.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Oh, god, Charlie I'm so sorry!" Don was almost in equal agony himself as he watched his little brother writhe on the ground, holding his leg. Feeling helpless, Don could only stand there, afraid to touch him and cause him further harm.

"Should I call an ambulance?" Don patted his pockets but realized he'd left his cell phone in the apartment.

"No." Charlie's answer came through gritted teeth and Don almost went to call anyway. He couldn't bring himself to leave Charlie though, so he stood waiting... Waiting for Charlie to tell him what to do to make this better.

After a moment Charlie tried to stand, ignoring the helping hand proffered by Don. When he tried to put weight on his injured leg though he lost his balance and would have tumbled back to the ground, had Don not quickly caught him in his arms and steadied him against himself.

"Let's get you back inside," Don said quietly, putting Charlie's arm over his shoulders so he could hold him up as he hobbled back to the apartment.

Don got Charlie settled into a chair just inside the door. "Wait here," he said. Don returned with his bike and put it indoors. He then disappeared into his bedroom, returning with an ice bag, which he filled in the kitchen. He went into the bedroom one more time and returned, leaving the door open and the light on.

"Come on," he motioned to Charlie and helped him up again. Surprisingly, Charlie didn't protest when Don led him into his bedroom and helped him onto his bed. Don opened up a first-aid kit on the nightstand and used some gauze to check Charlie's head. "No blood, that's a good sign." He placed the ice bag against the back of Charlie's head and adjusted it to make sure it wouldn't slip. Next, he very carefully removed Charlie's shoes and socks, taking extra time on the injured leg. His sweat pants had a small tear in them but none of the abrasions were serious enough to bleed much. Don carefully cleaned and bandaged the whole area. He held up an ace bandage next. "This might hurt a little but it should help. If you think there's anything broken though..." Charlie shook his head so Don very carefully wrapped the ankle, dying a little inside each time he heard Charlie's quick intake of breath at the pain.

When Don finished, he stood and packed up the kit again. "Do you want a change of clothes to sleep in?" he asked.

"My sweats are fine." Charlie wasn't saying much and that disturbed Don more than his emotional outbursts ever could.

Don put away the kit then pulled the covers over Charlie, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him. Charlie turned his head and looked away. There was so much Don wanted to say to his brother, so much he needed to say. But not right now. Not while the alcohol that had caused all this was still coursing through his system. Don reached over and moved the ice bag against Charlie's head again. "Get some rest. We'll talk in the morning." He gave Charlie's arm a light squeeze, turned out the light and closed the door behind him as he headed back to the living room.

Don sat down on the sofa, rubbing his face with his hands. When he looked up, he saw the array of bottles on the coffee table staring back at him. Part of him wanted to pour every bit of alcohol in the house down the drain. The other part of him wanted to pour it all down his throat in an attempt to forget what he had done.

Don got up and paced for a while, struggling with his compulsions. He desperately wanted to call Terry but knew she'd be forced to report any behavior like this to the Bureau. His father? His father would be both furious that he'd not only let Charlie get hurt, he'd caused it. The person Don really wanted to talk to wasn't speaking to him right now and that hurt more than Don ever imagined. Hurt was something he knew how to get rid of, at least temporarily. With one last glance at the coffee table, Don turned and pulled out his phone book. After flipping through it briefly, he found the number he needed.

"1-800-ALCOHOL Alcohol Abuse Hotline. My name is Melinda, how can I help you this evening?"

"I want to stop," Don's voice shook. "I need to stop."

* * *

When Charlie woke in the morning his headache, and the fact that he was in Don's bed, instantly reminded him of what had happened last night. As he sat up, the ice bag fell to the floor. Picking it up Charlie heard the ice inside rattle. Knowing there was no way the ice cubes could have not melted overnight he realized Don must have refilled it for him.

Charlie's ankle felt better so he hobbled over to Don's bathroom. After splashing some water on his face, he looked at himself in the mirror. Now that it was morning, he'd have to talk to Don. What could he say to him? Don, I think you have a problem? His reflection held no answers but Charlie knew there was no putting this off any longer. There could never be a repeat of what happened last night. Never. Not for his sake or for Don's.

Charlie hobbled out into the living room to find Don curled up on the couch, still fully dressed. The entire apartment smelled of both alcohol and cleaning products. The place was spotless, as if Don had been up all night cleaning up any evidence of his drinking binge. Charlie made his way into the kitchen and saw that Don's recycling bin was overflowing with bottles. When Charlie looked closer, he realized that mixed in with the beer bottles were others: whiskey, tequila... Oh, Don, Charlie thought. Did I leave you alone too soon last night? When he noticed the empty bottle of twelve year old single malt scotch that their father had given Don for his birthday last year Charlie changed his mind about what he was seeing. Don parceled out that precious scotch like gold. There was no way... Charlie hobbled over to Don's bar area and opened the cabinet. It was empty. Charlie hobbled back to the kitchen sink and leaned over it, sniffing. He was right. The smell of alcohol lingering in the apartment was coming from the sink. Don had poured everything he had, including his precious scotch, down the sink. Charlie let out a huge sigh of relief.

As Charlie headed back to the living room, he noticed one thing out of place. Don's yellow pages was open next to the phone. Charlie walked over to close it and put it away but wondering who Don had called last night made him curious enough to glance at the page. Alcohol Abuse Hotlines. Charlie's heart sank. He'd refused to talk to his brother last night when he had obviously needed to someone to talk to. So Don had had to resort to talking to a stranger. Any anger Charlie had evaporated with the guilt he felt at not being there for his brother when he truly needed him. But it wasn't too late. This was just the beginning for Don and Charlie knew he would be there for him now; he wouldn't make that mistake again.

Charlie grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and placed it on the coffee table in front of Don. He then hobbled back to the bathroom, carrying back everything he found in Don's medicine cabinet that might be good for a hangover, laying them out on the coffee table as well. Charlie settled himself into the chair next to the sofa and watched his brother sleep. Don's face was haggard; his eyes had dark circles under them and his skin had an ashen pallor to it. Charlie missed the look Don had in his youth: the baseball star who always appeared so carefree and confident with an easy smile. It seemed to Charlie that Don's smile had been missing for some time. He'd just not realized it until now.

After a few minutes, Don finally stirred, waking slowly and painfully. He sat up and put his head in his hands. "Ow..." he muttered under his breath, his head pounding.

Charlie reached over and picked up the water, handing it to him. "Drink this, it'll help."

Don looked up, surprised to see Charlie there, but took the water gratefully. "Thanks." He noticed the array on the coffee table, so different from that of last night, and swallowed a few selections along with the water before he collapsed back on the sofa with a loud sigh.

"Charlie..." Don didn't know where to begin but he knew he had to.

"Don, before you say anything," Charlie interrupted him, "I just... I just wanted you to know. I'm... I don't even know the word for what I'm feeling but it's important that you know I've seen what's in the kitchen and I saw the phone book. I guess I'm glad in a sense that you managed to stop yourself last night. I'm just..." he had trouble getting the words out. "I'm just sorry that as your brother I wasn't the one to get you through last night. That you had to rely on some stranger on the phone instead of me."

Don sat up immediately and reached for his brother. "Charlie, no! It wasn't like that!" Don's eyes had begun tearing up and as Charlie lifted his face, he saw those tears echoed in his eyes as well.

"I treated you so badly last night... I couldn't imagine you wanting to help me, especially when you wouldn't talk to me..." Charlie swallowed hard, his grief and guilt choking him. "But even if you'd been willing I still wouldn't have done it. I just couldn't talk to you last night. I'd already said such hurtful things to you. You don't sober up just because you want to, Charlie. I was still drunk last night when you went to bed and I was sure that if we had talked... That I would have said more things I would have regretted... More things I could never take back. And that... That wasn't worth risking. So yeah, I thought about all the people I could talk to... Terry, Dad... And I just needed someone to make me stop, just for one night, just one time. I figured this was important enough to trust a professional."

Don grasped his brother's hands in his own. "Charlie, I would give anything to take back last night. To not have you be hurt, to not have treated you like that, to not have said those mean and untrue things, and to not have had you look at me that way you did. Charlie, you've never been afraid of me in your life but last night you were. I could tell. I made you afraid and I don't know if I can ever erase that memory in you. I just know that I want desperately to try. I don't ever want you to see me like that again."

"I don't want that either." Charlie's trembling voice was barely a whisper; it held echoes of the fear Don had seen in him last night and that tore him up inside. "So what happens now?"

Don got up, walked over to his bookshelf, and pulled out a folder from the bottom shelf. He placed it on the coffee table, opened it and pulled out a brochure for Charlie to look at. It read FBI EAP/CISM (Employee Assistance Program and Critical Incident Stress Management).

Charlie glanced through the brochure and looked up at Don.

"Human Resources has been pressuring me to go in for counseling. If you're involved in the use of lethal force in the line of duty four times in one year you're required to go for counseling. I'm only one shy so they've just been strongly recommending it so far."

Charlie was shocked. He had known about Haldane and the suspect killed when Emily Burdick was recovered but had never thought about Don being the one to pull the trigger that, or any other time. "Don..." He couldn't find the words. How could he not know this about his only brother? How could he not know Don had taken another man's life, more than once even? Then again, Don had managed to hide his entire relationship with Kim from him so evidently there was a lot Don hadn't been telling him.

"Three men?" Charlie said quietly.

"So far this year." Don replied.

"How many total? No, don't tell me. I mean yes, I want to hear all about it but not right now. I need to get my head around this new data."

"That your brother is a killer?"

"That my brother never told me about it. First Kim, now this... It makes me wonder what else you've hidden from me."

"Charlie, ever since I went away to school... It wasn't like we stayed in touch. You were busy at Cal Sci... I had the Academy and then getting posted around the country..."

"You still could have told me. I'm your only brother. If you don't tell me, who do you tell?"

Don fell silent for a moment. He'd always tried to be self-sufficient but never realized until now there was such a high price to pay for trying to be a loner.

"Does Dad know?"

"He knows about Haldane. He overheard David saying how grateful he was for me saving him and put two and two together on his own. I think he's realized that that wasn't the first time."

Charlie nodded. Putting two and two together was supposed to be his job. How could he have known about Don going out into the field and not imagined him ever using his weapon? But lethal force, killing someone... That was different.

"So you'll go see these people then? That should help, right?"

"Yeah, I hope. I also made a promise last night, on the phone. I said I'd go to a meeting today. That I wouldn't wait for the EAP thing on Monday."

"A meeting? AA?"

"No, but I'm guessing it's not too different. It's a support group for law enforcement and their families. I checked the web site. There's a meeting this evening at six."

Charlie got up and sat next to Don on the sofa. "Then I'm coming with you."

Don was overwhelmed with gratitude at the love and caring in Charlie's voice. Love he felt he didn't deserve after last night, but that he'd fight like hell to be worthy of again. "Thanks, that means a lot to me."

Charlie rubbed Don's back as he watched his brother struggle to choke back his tears. Don was always so in control... Charlie didn't want to say anything to Don but part of the fear Charlie experienced last night wasn't because he thought Don might hurt him; it was because he'd never seen his big brother lose control before. Ever. To the little boy in Charlie who always trusted his big brother, who always knew that he'd take care of things, that was truly terrifying.

"I can go to the EAP things too, if you want. Dad will come too. You know we'll both do everything we can to help."

As much as Don had wanted to hear those words, they weren't helping him choke back the emotions that were threatening to unleash themselves at that moment.

Charlie sensed that Don was in pain but wasn't sure how to reach him.

"Please, Donnie, talk to me. So much of what's wrong is because we stopped talking. Don't shut me out now. I don't know how to help you if you won't talk to me."

Don was shaking now, forcibly trying to maintain some veneer of sanity.

Charlie reached out to Don, putting his arm around him.

"Donnie, I lost Mom and it almost killed me. I can't lose you too."

With that, the dam burst and Don couldn't hold back the floodgate of tears any longer. Charlie pulled him into his arms and Don cried into his brother's shoulder. Charlie could feel the sobs wracking Don's body and the tears began to fall from his face as well.

Gasping for breath in-between sobs, Don choked out a few words. "Never meant to hurt you... Never... Didn't mean any of what I said... It was... It was like I was watching someone else... In my body, saying and doing those things... I tried to make it stop but I couldn't... It hurt so much... I couldn't make it stop... I couldn't make the pain go away..."

Charlie tightened his hold on Don, murmuring, "It's okay, it's okay..." He held his brother until he cried himself out, reassuring him all the while that he would be there for him and that everything would turn out fine.

When Don finally sat back up Charlie could tell he was beyond exhausted, literally drained. Charlie stood up, grabbed the water bottle and beckoned to Don. "Come on."

Don got up, confused. "To where?"

"Bed," Charlie answered. "I had a chance to sleep but you were up almost all night, right? You're exhausted and hungover and you need rest. Come on, I'm putting you to bed."

Charlie did his best to walk normally even though his ankle still hurt a bit. He knew Don would notice and didn't want to cause him any further grief. He'd been through enough already and more guilt was the last thing he needed right now.

"You're walking better," Don observed.

"I'm fine, it wasn't anything major," Charlie didn't turn around in case Don's practiced eye might catch his little white lie.

Charlie pulled the covers down and waited for Don to undress before he tucked him in to bed.

"I promise I won't let you sleep past four. That should give you plenty of time to shower and get ready for the meeting. Your water's on the nightstand and I'll bring the medicine cabinet stuff back over later."

Don nodded, suddenly feeling like a sick child being put to bed by a loving parent. Something about that was appealing though, and Don closed his eyes to try to capture that warmth and keep it inside where he could remember it.

"You're not leaving are you?" Don said, a little nervous. He wasn't ready to be alone just yet. His hold on himself was still too tenuous and fragile.

Charlie walked around to the other side of the bed and lay down on top of the covers. "I'm not leaving you, Don. Sleep. I'll be here when you wake up. I promise."

"Thanks, buddy," Don whispered.

At first Don tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable and he didn't settle down until Charlie reached over and started threading his fingers through Don's hair. It was exactly the same soothing gesture their mother had used to send her young sons off to sleep and it touched Don to have his brother do the same for him.

Don felt himself drifting away and welcomed the freedom from pain that oblivion promised, but one thing remained undone and he couldn't let himself rest until it was taken care of.

"Love you, buddy," he mumbled.

"I love you too, Don," came the reply he so desperately needed.

With a sigh, he slipped into slumber, finally whole again.


End file.
